


The Life and Times of Beauregard

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (not even spurt), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Class Swap AU, Every character is mentioned, F/F, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Professor Thaddeus, but i only tagged the ones with speaking lines, posted on my Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: Prompt fills for BeauWeek2019!1- Childhood & Youth/Animals2- Brawl/Learning3- Modern AU/Dairon4- Family Ties/Hurt & Comfort5- Lesbian Visibility Day6- Class Swap/Cobalt Soul7- Found Family/Keepsakes





	1. Childhood/Youth/Animals

The first thing Beau does after her hair is cut and cleaned is sneak through her window and run through the forest with reckless abandon, getting as many twigs and debris stuck in it as possible. 

She knows that coming home with filthy hair will make her mom mad, but she also knows that it probably won’t make her madder than she was yesterday, when Beau haphazardly whacked most of her hair off with a pair of garden shears. 

Besides, even a frown and a yell from her mother is better than the stubborn ignorance Beau gets most days. She’s getting good at making her mom look at her, keeping herself from disappearing into those stupid dresses and the desk she’s forced to study at. 

If she can’t make her mom happy with drawings and jokes and desperate attempts to hold her hand, she’ll just make her livid with impromptu haircuts and torn clothes. Anything to keep from fading away completely in her parents’ eyes.

Of course, the forest romps aren’t just about garnering her mom’s attention. There are easier ways to do that, plenty of rules and delicate things to break within the house, but most of those methods come with her father’s attention too, and that’s a little less fun. 

Out here in the forest, it’s easy to forget his heavy, eternally disappointed stare. Amongst the trees, she is liberated from the strangling collar of her newest dress, the weight of her long hair, and the sharp pain of her father’s sneer. Underneath the cloudy sky, a generous run from her house, Beau can pretend that her father isn’t expecting her for afternoon studies and that her mother isn’t frowning as she sweeps up the remains of Beau’s hair. 

Beau is a little too young to understand what the dark shadows in her father’s eyes and the tense lines of his forehead really mean, or truly recognize the abnormal cruelty that hides behind the them.

In the same vein, she doesn’t really understand why one path of the forest is more traveled than another, or why she shouldn’t have wandered so far into the unfamiliar parts.

She’s a little too young and a little too excitable to be worried about being lost, not when she’s having so much fun with the huge stick she found, waving it about like it’s a sword and she’s a knight going to fight a terrible beast or pretending it’s a magic staff and she’s the most powerful, mysterious wizard in Wildemount or twirling it around as if she is skilled martial artist who could take down the forest in one well-placed strike. 

The rustling and soft growls from the bush behind Beau don’t manage to interrupt her daydreams, boisterous as they are. She doesn’t notice the claws and teeth creeping closer to her, but she _does_ notice a large owl taking off from a tree in front of her, all alarmed hoots and beating of powerful wings. 

The owl is huge, probably three times the size of Beau’s head, and it’s interesting enough to get her to drop everything and run back the way she came, chasing the bird with all the strength she has in her little legs. She dashes after it, narrowly missing a swipe of claws from a hidden monster as she dexterously leaps from tree root to tree root, dodging branches and stray plants as she endeavors to keep the owl in her sights. 

She runs in its shadow for a few moments, silhouette of its wings shading her eyes from the high afternoon sun, but when she looks up at its feathery horns and big eyes staring back at her, she trips on a rock and falls behind a few crucial steps. That’s all it takes to lose the bird, the strong breeze under its large wings taking it much farther than Beau’s short, gravity-bound legs. 

Utilizing her seemingly endless wealth of energy and determination, Beau keeps running, pushing forward and hoping to see the owl beyond the next tree or the next or the next. It’s only when she bursts into a familiar clearing, the closest to her house, that she finally gives up the chase. 

She looks up at the sky one more time, searching for the silhouette past the crisscrossed branches, and finds nothing but the noon sun, reminding her she needs to be home before her father comes looking for her. Muttering to herself, she resolves to add this to her list, her list of the many things she will do when she grows up. 

_I’ll have an owl for sure, and I’ll win it in an arm wrestling contest, after I’ve become the strongest person in Wildemount. I’ll keep it with me all the time, it’ll make me look so cool. Everyone will know me as the strongest hero in Wildemount with the coolest owl and the coolest friends who helped, a little, when I saved the world._

_I’ll name him…_

“Thaddeus. One day, I’ll come back for you.”

The horned owl sits quietly in the tree above Beau, watching her walk home from the shadows. If an owl could look amused, this one does it, round eyes lighting up like a surprised professor, pleased with their student’s progress. 

It hopes, if an owl can hope, that Beau is a fast learner, because it certainly will not always be there to rescue her from the dangers of the wilderness. 

It wishes, if an owl can wish, that Beau will return anyway, despite the danger, to the place where she is happiest, the most free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on editing these and moving them onto here from my tumblr. Stay tuned!


	2. Brawl/Learning

As the fist collides with her face, Beau first hears the cheer from the crowd, then the crack of her nose being broken, then a feral snarl. 

It takes her a few seconds to realize that _she’s_ the one who snarled, and by the time her brain has caught up it’s _her_ fist sinking into Phil’s cheek, leaving a bloom of purple in its wake. 

She doesn’t need her brain to keep up because it’s as simple as breathing to make strike after strike, only pausing in her assault to dodge the errant fist. Every time she hits Phil, the bastard, she doesn’t get some grand, magic epiphany, but she sees him flinch and watches as he staggers so she knows to hit there again. 

Her blows change from clumsy and testing to precise and dangerous. She hasn’t studied, she doesn’t know where any nerve points are, but she does know that when she hit him near his kidney he nearly went down and when she does it again he _does_ go down. 

Beau follows him to the floor, intent on taking out the rest of her bloodthirst, avenging some wrong she doesn’t even remember in the heat of the brawl. Something is screaming in the back of her head, warning her, but her fist pulls back anyway for another punch, she’s given it a mind of its own and its mind wants _blood_. 

There’s a hand on her elbow, then some on her shoulders and now the spectators are pulling her back, wrenching her away from the fight. Stacy is trying to get her to calm down, handing her a filthy handkerchief to wipe the blood off her face. 

Beau learns something that day, not something her tutors will ever test her on, but something the streets will. 

Beau learns how to _hurt_. 

…

When the rock hits the back of her head, the first thing Beau sees when she turns is three thugs, then the smirk of their leader, then a second rock flying towards her head. 

She sees the leader’s frown before she notices where the rock landed, safely in Beau’s hand. 

It is almost certainly a lucky catch, but Beau’s returning pitch is certainly not a lucky throw, putting all her power behind it to make up for her lack of aim. It only hits the leader’s shoulder but it does its job, pissing off the girl enough to spur her to push her forward into Beau’s space, her striking range. 

Stacy, friend one day, rock-thrower the next, is not terribly skilled in hand to hand combat, but Beau isn’t either. Beau’s only saving grace is that she happens to be more vicious and more ballsy, catching Stacy’s fist mid-swing and pushing it back towards her, throwing off her balance. 

By the time Stacy is able to break from Beau’s grip, get enough steps away to stall the onslaught momentarily, her mouth is filled with blood and curse words and other words Beau suspects she’ll regret saying. 

One of her stupid thugs throws a rock, to punctuate one of Stacy's insults, and it whizzes past Beau's head, but she leans down to pick it up, weighing it in her hands as she thinks. Words and insults, ruthlessly personal insults and suggestions of secrets never meant to come to light, form in Beau's head like ripples of blood droplets hitting water, increasing in strength as they roll off her tongue. Stacy looks just as horrified and surprised at Beau’s words as she was when Beau caught the rock, watching helplessly as her weapons are mercilessly slung back at her, in the form of projectiles and blackmail. 

It’s the smirk that really marks the end of the fight, both verbally and physically, as Beau mirrors Stacy’s arrogant smile, so familiar from the time they’ve spent together, enough time for Beau to have studied up on what really makes Stacy hurt. 

If Beau has learned anything from the streets, it’s to trust no one and to know enough to beat anyone.

Beau learns, courtesy of Stacy, how to hit her mark. 

…

When a bottle is smashed against the bar next to her, the first thing Beau feels is her shoulders tensing, then a sweaty hand on her shoulder, then her forearm flying up to brace against another hand. 

This time, her mind is all caught up. She recognized the man entering the bar, heard him grumbling amongst his friends, felt the tavern floor creak as he walked towards her. It was a conscious thing to tense her shoulders, set herself like a trap wound too tight. 

He must’ve thought that he could have at least pulled Beau out of her seat with a surprise strike, but it’s Beau that’s swinging off the stool on her own terms and using the momentum to spin him face first onto the bar. She’s aiming for the shards of glass he scattered in his moronic, drunk attempt at intimidation and manages to get some of his face impaled on the broken bottle. 

He shoves her back, succeeding only because he’s cartoonishly larger than her, and his face is a gruesome sight as he turns around, glass sticking out from a tear duct, the side of his nose and along his cheekbone. _Good_ , an echo from the back of her brain, two voices, one for bloodthirst and the other for justice, speaking in unison, as they are prone to. 

Beau shuffles back into her makeshift defensive pose, not the trained, careful kind, but the adrenaline charged, natural kind. Her defensive stance is little more than tensed shoulders, set feet and raised fists, but she knows it works, knows it’ll let her spring into action as soon as she sees an attack. 

The man spits out a piece of glass and growls, sweeping his meaty fists through the air towards her. It’s comically easy to block one swinging fist after another, forearms bracing and legs doing their best to clumsily knock a couple of blows out of the air. She’s experimenting, trying to expand the potential she feels locked in her muscles, trying to explore more of this instinctual drive to _fight_. 

The more she blocks, the more tired the man gets, swaying on his feet as he makes halfhearted strikes, not able to get past her guard, even as loose as it is. She hits him in the face once with a kick, and he tries to copy her, but it offsets his balance so badly he falls on his ass. 

Beau is gone from the bar before she has to watch his garbage friends pick him up. There’s something you learn from hanging out in shady taverns and making enemies: it pays to be on guard. 

Beau learns, after many nights of drinking, to defend herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Slowly_ working through several unproductive weeks to get these edited and posted onto ao3. 
> 
> I always like to explore the skills Beau may have learned before the Cobalt Soul, in her criminal days, and this piece was the perfect opportunity. Hope you liked it!


	3. Modern AU/Dairon

“ _Dairon is going to kill me for this_ ,” Beau mutters to herself as she shoves several volumes of books into her bag. 

Jester better appreciate Beau sticking her neck on the line to take expensive, restricted books out of her college’s library under the watch of her eagle eyed mentor. Sure, Beau knows her way around thievery, or unauthorized borrowing in this case, and has plenty of access as a librarian, but that doesn’t make the possibility of getting caught any less nerve wracking. 

This is not a matter of her father or even the police. This is _Dairon_ and the collective rage of the Cobalt Soul, the all-seeing organization that sponsors their school and stocks their massive library. The thought of disappointing Dairon- this incredible librarian who's taken her in and taught her so much- makes Beau sad, but she's more terrified of what getting on her bad side may mean for her future, at the school and outside of the school. 

The Cobalt Soul has many strings it can pull- the trick is getting them to pull ones that will help rather than hurt you. And stealing books is not a good way to persuade them in her favor. 

_The things I do for my friends._

Beau shakes her head to clear it and quietly moves around the front desk, doing her best to make a stealthy exit despite being hindered by her clunky bag that bulges with heavy books. The door is within reach and she’s holding out her hand to push it—

“Beau?” Zeenoth, the other intern, emerges from the nearby shelves with a stack of books and a smirk on his face, “What do you have there?”

Beau doesn’t miss a beat, turning around and scowling her greeting frown to Zeenoth. “None of your business.”

Zeenoth frowns, pointy ears falling flat against his head like a pissed off cat. “As a librarian, my job is to ensure that our books are all accounted for so if you’ll please—“

“Alright! Shut up, will you?” Beau makes a show of throwing her hands up in frustration and rolling her eyes, she’s never been a good actor (more Molly’s thing) but she tries to exaggerate her annoyance enough to convince Zeenoth to drop it, “It’s the entire series on _Wormholes And Rifts_. I have an exam on them tomorrow. Are you happy?”

“No, actually. I don’t believe you.” Zeenoth’s nose scrunches up, expression halfway between disgust and indignation, as if his high horse just took a smelly dump. 

“They’re on my damn record!” They are, actually. She checked them out earlier and hid them under some unused chairs in the backroom. 

Zeenoth hums and shuffles his books, narrowing his eyes at Beau. Seemingly exasperated, she pulls out the book she put in the top pocket of her bag, _Wormholes And Rifts, Volume 1_ , careful to keep the books beneath it concealed. 

“Can I go now?” She rolls her eyes again, hoping that Zeenoth is too stupid to notice her overdoing the annoyed student act. 

“I suppose.” Zeenoth barely finishes the word before Beau is out the door, walking as fast as the societal norms of a parking lot will allow. 

She shifts the car into drive and starts on her way to Caduceus’ house. This’d better be good. 

...

“Oh! You got the books!” Jester seems surprised and Beau is almost insulted that she apparently has so little faith in her abilities. 

“Of course I did. You ask, I deliver.”

Jester throws her arms around Beau, squeezing her tight. Beau stiffens then relaxes, overriding her anti-hugging instincts for Jester.

“You’re the best, Beau,” Jester pulls back, winks at Beau, and whispers, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

The door behind Beau slams open and Fjord walks into the room, clapping Beau on the shoulder as he goes, interrupting her gay panic. She shoots him a glare and he shoots her a grin and a thumbs up, overly aware of what’s transpiring between her and Jester. 

Caleb trails just behind Fjord, wary of Beau but willing to reap the rewards of friendship with one of the coveted campus librarians. The books he requested- Beau assumes Caleb requested, since Fjord doesn’t seem the type to know enough about restricted books to request them- are all weird, covering not quite taboo but undeniably shady magic subjects. Beau suspects it has something to do with Fjord and his _thing_ , since she struggles to see what Caleb could get out of books like _Dark Pacts For Dummies_ if not simply for Fjord’s sake. 

Whatever, she’s sure they’ll figure it out. Beau is curious but not curious enough to get more deeply involved than stealing books. Besides, Jester might let her in on what’s going on later, without any prying required. 

It only takes a few minutes alone with the books for Caleb and Fjord to start arguing over something, a magic theory Caleb has or some secret Fjord's been keeping. Caleb keeps his voice hushed but Fjord is nearly shouting, oblivious to Caleb’s attempt at peacemaking. 

Her friends really are idiots. 

“Guys, guys! No fighting over books, ok?”

Except Jester. Jester is an angel. And if Jester thinks that they need these books, that these books will help their friends, then Beau believes her. She’s more than willing to steal for her friends, regardless of her mentor's disappointment and the Cobalt Soul's threats. 

Jester takes Beau’s hand and tugs her into the kitchen, babbling something about fresh pastries and tea that Caduceus made. 

It’s all worth it- the shady business and the disappointed Dairon- for these little moments of eating cookies with Jester while their friends argue in the background, squabbling like petulant siblings. 

It certainly won’t make facing Dairon, who seems to know everything no matter how secretive Beau tries to be, in the morning any easier. But it will make this day, this week, easier on her heart, warmed in the unconditional love of her friends, her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is actually not on my tumblr- I wrote it a while after the actual event and decided to put it on here. 
> 
> I've been extremely busy lately and been forced to put fanfic projects on the back burner for now, so that's why it's taking me so long to edit and update these, but I will eventually have all of them on here!
> 
> In the meantime, enjoy some beaujester content and stay tuned for more!


	4. Family Ties/Hurt/Comfort

“Jester?”

Jester looks up from drawing in her journal to Beau, who has that weird, constipated look that usually means she wants to talk about feelings. 

“Yes, Beau?”

Beau takes that as an invitation to sit heavily on the bed next to Jester, leaning against the backboard to stare up at the maroon ceiling of this lovely room Jester’s mom has lent them. 

“Did you,” Beau pauses, collecting her thoughts, and Jester turns back to her journal to take some of the pressure off, “see anything when you looked into the dodecahedron?” 

_An endless line of men and an endless line of Jesters, parallel but never touching. Different faces, different races, but all holding the same posture: Jester with hands on her hips and her fathers with their arms crossed, faces obscured._

_A green cloak, pulled back to reveal striking green eyes, the only constant in a continually changing face that seems to spin around an axis like a doll with a million carved faces._

_An infinite number of doors and even more Jesters, opening each to an unfamiliar world._

Jester hums, pushing away the memory and smiling at Beau. “Sort of! It’s kind of weird, right?”

“Yeah. Weird.” Beau’s voice cracks on the last syllable, and Jester immediately snaps to attention, head turning sharply to look at her. 

She’s looking away, not quite on the verge of tears but visibly upset. Her nose scrunches and her mouth sets itself in a deeper frown than is typical for her, muscles pulling together and tensing to restrain the dam of tears and feelings lurking beneath the surface. 

“Beau?” Jester sits up, leaving her journal, and curls herself around Beau’s arm, “What did _you_ see in the dodecahedron?” 

Beau looks down at her hands and shakes her head as if she might refuse to answer, until she sees Jester’s face. There’s a fire in Jester’s eyes, similar to the look she gets when she’s focused in battle, but much fiercer. Some would call this serious side of Jester uncharacteristic, and Beau would call those people morons because Jester is the most serious person she knows when it comes to protecting and helping her friends.

“You can tell me anything, Beau. You know that, right?”

Beau nods, trying to gather her nerve. She’s no good at this “talk about what’s bothering you” business. 

“It’s stupid—“

“It’s not stupid.” 

The fire in Jester's eyes flares, anger like a creature coming to life with a battle cry, ready to physically fight Beau's insecurity, the parts of her that push her down and tell her that her feelings don't matter. 

_Gods_ , Beau would do anything for Jester and her willingness to fight anyone who threatens her friends, even it’s the friends themselves that need their asses kicked. 

“I saw, well, it was like…another timeline, I guess. My brother was there.”

Jester’s eyebrows raise and she leans in closer, chin settled on Beau’s shoulder.

“And I wasn’t.” Beau closes her eyes, willing the images imprinted on her subconscious to leave her alone. 

_A smiling boy, remarkably similar to Beau except in the way he carries himself, all the prestige and wealth of his family supporting a stiffer posture. His hair is perfect, his smile is perfect. His parents are happy, smiling behind him with their hands on his shoulders as they pose for a sketch of a family portrait._

Jester frowns, biting her lip. Beau can see the wheels spinning behind her face, trying to figure out a way to comfort Beau, and she wants to tell her don’t bother, it doesn’t matter, but she knows Jester will be peeved if she interrupts.

The silent moment of thought, of processing, ends and Jester looks up with a bright smile. 

“In that case, I must be very lucky!”

Beau blinks once and laughs; Jester never ceases to find confusing things to say. Beau’s long since become accustomed to just rolling with it, hoping Jester has a conclusion in mind that makes sense, and she always does. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

Jester grins again, fangs glinting in the sunlight, dark blue freckles raising with her cheeks, and eyes crinkling in delight.

“Because, I got the timeline with you in it! _Technically_ , that’s the only thing that matters.”

Beau _never_ cries. She didn’t cry when she was taken away by the Cobalt Soul, she didn’t cry when she read her parents’ letters, and she didn’t cry when she looked into the dodecahedron, but she does cry now, like a baby, in Jester’s arms. 

She’s not sure when Jester stopped leaning on Beau’s shoulder and started being the shoulder that Beau is leaning on, but she does know that Jester’s arms around her feel like magic, like healing. Jester’s smile and her warmth and her gentle pats on the back are a literal and metaphorical god send. As Beau leans into her divine radiance, her tears flow more and more, expelling all the built up sadness that had been growing like mold in her soul. 

When Jester’s arms are around her, Beau no longer feels pain or loneliness, no longer feels useless or replaceable, no longer bleeds or hurts. 

In Jester’s arms and hands, Beau finds her own sort of salvation, a healing of the mind, body, and soul. 

Jester’s lips brush her ear, whispering like she’s sharing a bit of gossip. “And your parents can go _fuck themselves_ , if they can’t see that _you’re_ the best part of this timeline.” 

Beau giggles, turning over to embrace Jester. Wrapped around Jester in a soft bed in a fancy hotel room, it’s easy to see that _this_ is the best timeline, easy to forget about her parents’ hatred, easy to appreciate just this healing, this happiness. 

Beau is glad she’s in the timeline with this Jester, with _her_ Jester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More beaujester content! Rolling out these edited chapters _very_ slowly.


	5. Lesbian Visibility Day

After everything, it’s still a girl’s company that makes Beau feel at peace. 

As she holds Keg in her arms, all the grief and rage and bone-deep _exhaustion_ of the day melt into body heat, soft smiles and even softer touches. 

Beau feels Keg’s breath ghost over her bare chest, feels her heartbeat pound a steady rhythm against her hands, feels her sleepy smile curl in the crook of her shoulder. 

The embrace of a woman is familiar to Beau, but Keg is... different from all the girls she’s loved before. Different, but achingly similar in ways Beau struggles to put words to, as her thoughts spark and dissolve in this quiet, half-asleep space. 

Keg’s arms and their muscles that lay lax against Beau’s hips remind her of strength, of being easily whisked away by a lover. Stomping into a circus tent, pressed against braided armor and hair. A tight grip on her arm as blue fingers pull her along to the next adventure. A protective silhouette over her shoulder and an unrelenting smile at her side, torn away but remaining as afterimages that hold Beau up, even in their absence. 

Keg is _strong_ , certainly. But strong enough to hold together something falling part, bleeding, dying? Maybe. 

Maybe this night is enough to stitch that tear in Beau’s heart, hold it together just long enough for it to scab. Maybe a night with Keg is enough to distract her from that terrible pain, like an obsidian-black glaive through Beau’s gut. 

The playful, fleeting warmth of the night reminds her of sweet summer flings, of girls that were in and out of Beau's life in a week’s time, leaving faint fingerprints on her mind and body. They are a collection of fractured memories, mouths or eyes or hands but never a full face, never a name. Stacy, Casey, Tracy, what was her name? The girl with the earthen dark eyes or the lips and teeth that played Beau like a violin or the hands with bright pink painted nails that wrapped in her hair and pulled, brushing or tugging, gentle and harsh. 

This night with Keg is _fleeting_ , certainly. Keg leaves in the morning, fading from Beau’s life as she moves onto a new one that hopefully promises her more than death and one night stands. 

But easy to forget? Will Beau ever forget Keg? Will that fateful night become one of many, reducing Keg and her steady spirit to nothing more than golden eyes, crooked teeth and strong hands?

Maybe Beau won’t forget, after she spent so much time memorizing the skin beneath her, finding places in her mind to store every moment of the night away. 

The feeling of Keg’s hair caught in Beau’s fingers takes the place of the feeling of a friend’s blood leaking out between her fingers as they press down, trying futilely to stop the flow. The scent of Keg, her sweat and grime, pushes the memory of thick, iron-scented blood out of Beau’s head. Keg’s awkward chuckle at every clumsy move fills Beau’s mind with music and makes her forget the sound of a glaive sinking into flesh. 

No, Beau will never forget Keg and her hands that seemed to hold her together, leaving a permanent mark on a mind too eager to forget. She’ll never forget her night with Keg, even if she disappears forever, even if Beau never sees her again. 

A person, after all, exists in more forms than the flesh. 

A coat, a lesson, an unforgettable life. 

A handwritten letter, a single word, an unforgettable night. 

Keg may be one of many, but she was there when Beau needed her most and that is perhaps what secures her a place in her mind, her heart, and her soul. 

...

“You didn’t have too much fun without me, did you?”

Molly grins up the group from the cold stone he’s been laid on. There’s no blood in his teeth, not like the last smile Beau saw from him. 

Jester’s pointed nails dig into Beau’s palm as she stares across the table Molly sits on, giving Caduceus a tired smile as if to say _Our work is done_. She turns the smile to Beau and Beau feels that spark in her heart, deep love only intensifying the joy of the moment. The smile feels eternal, undying as their friendship, undying as Mollymauk Tealeaf. 

Beau puts her free hand around Yasha at her side, hoping to ease the relieved sobs that make her shoulders shake. Yasha bends with the emotion, but doesn’t break, holding herself as sturdy as ever. Beau knows they can lean against each other, keeping each other steady in times of grief and in times of relief. 

It is, again, in the company of women where Beau finally finds peace. 

This time, it is not a respite from sadness but a place to let loose the well of everything built up prior to the resurrection. The women she loves hold her strong and steadfast on a day they’re all vulnerable, Jester with her tough as nails smile and firm grip and Yasha with her brave tears and strong shoulders to lean on.

These people are her family, her loves, the ones with the longest histories in Beau’s mind. Yasha’s heavy hug and Jester’s parting smile are what will get Beau through this restless night of new life, a long tension finally released. 

A hug, a smile, and a letter she keeps in the journal beside her bed. 

She traces the lines of the single word of the letter and smiles, pulling out her own pen and paper.

There’s so much she could say- thanks for the incredible night, thanks for the memorable company, thanks for getting me through, thanks for giving me something to hold onto until we could bring him back- but she’s not sure how to write it. How to take this abstract from her brain- this satisfaction of reaching a conclusion to a story Keg encouraged her to keep writing, to keep _living_ \- to a simple piece of paper. 

_Keg,_

Beau hesitates, unsure, but at once there seems to be hands on hers, some without names and others called Yasha, Jester, Keg. Some are soft, some calloused, but all are warm and almost real, in the dim candlelight. They guide her pen, inspiring an impossible certainty in her words. 

_Thanks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I didn't have on my tumblr! Filling in some of these prompts real late, but it's better late than never, right?


	6. Class Swap/Cobalt Soul

It’s no secret, to anyone who’s met Beau, that she likes to know everything there is to know about everything from library gossip to government corruption. She makes it her business, through hours of painful study, to know every fact available to her about the histories of the Empire and the precise workings of the arcane. 

It is, however, a common misconception to believe that, since she spends hours of her free time buried in books about magic, Beau loves to read and study. Contrary to popular belief, Beau _despises_ studying, hates sitting still for so long and memorizing so many meaningless words. 

Unfortunately, she wasn’t born with ancient blood in her veins, doesn’t have a very good singing voice and isn’t in the market for a pact, so she’ll have to settle with the traditional, book-learned route to arcane mastery. Studying, she’s learned, is a necessary evil because knowledge is power and Beau loves to have power. Especially the arcane sort- just _imagine_ the things she could do with the reigns of reality in her hands.

The first time she feels flames harmlessly tickling the palms of her hands, she knows it was all worth it. She knows all those hours, days, _months_ of studying was worth it for the power she carries with her always, now flowing with her blood and sparking to life across her nerves. Magic, after less than a year, has become a familiar force to Beau, like an old friend who always has her back. 

The power, the fire, is always at her side, making her visibly stand out from the other archivists. Beau is confident in her heavy boots, flowing robes, and charged, arcane atmosphere, her deliberate footfalls so unlike the shuffling of her timid, book-smart colleagues. The air that gathers around her feels ready to spark and ignite with any shift in her mood, compelling librarians to rush to clear her path as she moves through. 

It’s this obvious air of power that makes Beau the first person Caleb notices during his days in the Cobalt Soul Archives. 

Caleb walks _far_ less confidently, closed in and protective of his space as if he’s walking through enemy territory. He’s on guard always, like he expects a knife in the back at any time, and that means keeping track of powerful people, like Beauregard, with eyes that shift nervously from face to face. He watches her, wondering if she’ll be a useful ally or a threatening enemy. 

But in training, in the pits beneath the archive where he’s taught strike after strike, Caleb is a different person. He dives into fights with reckless abandon, doing anything he can to make contact with his opponent, willfully ignorant of the risks. There’s a drive within him that obliterates any other sense of caution he feels, anger or some vicious, bloodthirsty type of sadness fueling his fists. 

And _that_ is what makes Beau notice him, the first time she sees him in the Archive. 

She smirks at Zeenoth, gesturing to Caleb unleashing a round of blows and getting immediately shut down by Dairon.

“Who’s the new guy?”

Zeenoth hums, barely looking up from the book he carries. He doesn’t particularly care for Beau and cares even less for the less studied members of the Cobalt Soul. 

“The one with the temper? I believe his name’s Widogast. I heard- no, I shouldn’t say.” Zeenoth smiles that very punch-able smile of his, delighting in some information to hold over Beau’s head. 

Beau smiles too, piercings catching the light as she all but bares her teeth at Zeenoth. “Well, I wish I had to restraint to keep from gossiping like you. I’m afraid that, if I don’t get my gossiping fix, I might turn to sharing someone else’s secrets.”

Zeenoth frowns, guessing at her meaning and trying to remember what information Beau could have on him. It could be anything, everyone knows that Beau knows everything, whether or not it is reasonable or plausible for her have discovered it. 

“It’s just,” Zeenoth leans in to whisper to Beau, “I heard he has ties to Soltrice.”

“Soltrice?” Beau’s eyebrows draw together, glancing back to the man fighting Dairon. He certainly doesn’t look like a wizard, although, she supposes she doesn’t really look like a wizard either. 

Zeenoth catches the look on her face as she tries to pick apart the newbie. “He’s not a wizard, or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. I can’t tell you any more than that, the rest is just rumor.” 

Beau nods, making up her mind. She’ll just have to talk to him herself, in that case. 

…

It only takes a few days to get to know Caleb. As mysterious as he portrays himself to be, it is pretty easy to understand him, especially from Beau’s point of view. She sees a bit of herself in him, sees that drive to be powerful enough to get what you want when you want it. 

For Beau, power is understanding how the world works and being able to take on anyone who stands in her way. For Caleb, it’s something deeper, darker, hidden under layers of pain and regret. 

For Beau, power is fire. For Caleb, it’s his fists. 

Beau isn’t about to poke that wasp nest, but she does want to help, wants to make sure all that potential he’s got wound around his arms in dingy bandages doesn’t go to waste. She doesn't want him to be just some other monk blowing off steam in the training room and never getting better, doesn't want to see him slowly wasting away under the poison of his self-deprecation. 

She knows temper and she knows how to control it; Caleb’s abuse of the punching bag just to feel his muscles burn is no different than Beau’s nights of quietly burning up trash just to feel her power course through her hands. They’re forms of blowing off steam, a way of keeping just enough of a level head to function in the world they wish to conquer. 

They train side by side most days, despite how ridiculous Beau looks sat cross-legged on the dusty fighting room floor with her spell components while Caleb fights a sand bag, occasionally spraying sand into Beau’s hair. She's keeping an eye on him, curious, and he's keeping an eye on her, suspicious. 

Beau extinguishes the fire she’s been working on manipulating, straightening to watch Caleb work himself to exhaustion. 

“Take a break, you’re working too hard. At this rate, you’ll hurt yourself and delay training for the rest of the week.”

Caleb looks up from his punching bag, wiping sweat from his eyes and catching his breath. He scowls at Beau, something between irritation and confusion in the hard lines of his face. 

“Why are you helping me?”

“You seem like you need the help.” 

Beau smirks because she knows he hates when she says things like that, but would hate it more if she’d told him the truth about the potential and pain she sees in his eyes. As far as Caleb needs to know, Beau just thinks of him as a hot-headed, stupid kid, like all the other Archivists seem to. 

Caleb frowns, not sure how to respond to that. The pattern of conversation is familiar, usually ending with Beau leaving Caleb speechless. 

“Doesn’t this bother you? Wouldn’t you rather study somewhere else?” 

His eyes shift downward, guilty and bitter. He probably regards Beau’s company as a sort of pity, kindness in response to a tragedy he refuses to share. 

“You’re right,” Beau gets up and puts a hand on his arm, guiding but not pulling, “Let’s go upstairs to the library. I’ll show you something.” 

Caleb doesn’t move, planting his feet on the dusty floor. If Beau dared attempt to pull him, he wouldn’t budge, physically stronger than her by a long shot. 

“I have to stay here, I have work to do. I have to… I have to get stronger.” Caleb’s eyes are desperate and lost, scrambling for purchase on a cliff face he’s doomed to fall down. 

Beau’s smile disappears, taking on that sharp, appraising look Caleb recognizes from the first day she approached him. 

“Why, Caleb? What do you have to do?”

Caleb shakes his head, taking a step back from Beau, face forming a neutral mask as if it'll keep Beau out of his thoughts. Beau crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him, peering beyond the veil. 

Anyone who hasn’t spent as much time with Caleb as Beau has would say that Caleb is like any other young monk, head full of delusions of grandeur and vengeance. Beau sees, in these moments and many others, that there’s something more than that, a mission greater than simple revenge that Caleb can’t, or won’t, put words to. 

Beau relaxes her arms and beckons Caleb forward, one more time. 

“C’mon, just one trip upstairs. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Beau’s smile is not something one would call _charming_ , too wide and forced, but it is perhaps _compelling_ , daring her audience to challenge her. 

Caleb looks uneasy, shifting on his feet. His eyes peer up at Beau through the loose strings of hair falling out of the messy bun it’s tied in.

“Promise?” The question is half joking as Caleb walks forward, already following Beau but looking, on some level, for reassurance. 

“Promise.” She keeps her smile for him and closes her heart to memories of her own crumbling foundation, reassurance she looked for and never received.

Books about fighting technique are deathly boring for Beau, but Caleb seems grateful for the knowledge. Beau is just glad he’s not working himself to collapse underneath the Archive unsupervised. 

She’s resolved to do what it takes to keep Caleb’s flame from burning itself out and if that includes listening to him talking nonstop about some new moves he’s excited to try, Beau is willing to make that sacrifice.


	7. Found Family/Keepsakes

Every good family has souvenirs of their life together. Whether they’re big things or little things or even intangible things, everybody has at least one thing they carry with them that reminds them of home and family. 

Beau has many things, though she’d never tell you what they are. 

From Jester, Beau keeps the ribbon Jester lent her on the first day they travelled together, when Beau was struggling to put her hair up. It keeps her hair and her spirits up, the silky, bright blue accessory never failing to remind her of how her family will always be there to support her when times are tough. 

From Fjord, Beau keeps the spare razor he gave her to help him redo his undercut. When he’d said she could have it, Beau discovered what it feels like to have someone care for her, to be given kindness without any strings attached. She’ll never forget the day they traded haircuts, even as the razor grows dull in her bag. 

From Nott, Beau keeps the plastic costume ring, fit with a cloudy fake sapphire. She doesn’t wear it, afraid she’ll lose it in combat, but it sits her pocket as a reminder of the victories they share. Every once in a while, she’ll run her thumb over the plastic sapphire, letting any small failures of the day fade with memories of Nott’s smile and triumphant distribution of shitty jewelry. 

From Caleb, Beau keeps a feather from Frumpkin, a loose one that fell in her pocket and was never removed. It’s a happy memory of the pocket owl, warm and soft as it rested on her shoulder, but it’s also a symbol of Caleb’s love for his family. Love, in the form of little favors, from the man who can’t bring himself to admit his attachment out loud. 

From Molly, Beau keeps the Death tarot card she stole from his deck, even when he started complaining about its disappearance after his resurrection. She’ll always keep it from him in secret, as a game of metaphorical keep away with the mortal coil and as a cautionary sign, a warning to remain vigilant in protecting her friends. And, of course, to annoy him whenever he sits down to do some bullshit readings. 

From Yasha, Beau keeps a single flower, pressed flat and safely stored in Beau’s notebook. Sometimes, when she’s copying down things to remember from their travels, Beau accidentally opens to the flower’s page and feels something, something between love and heartbreak, something like unconditional _devotion_ to the bleeding heart she yearns to heal. 

From Shakaste, Beau keeps a bead from his hair, fallen during the battle with the manticore. She considered giving it back but she wanted a token to remember him by, not knowing she’d see him again. When he came back, she considered again how creepy it was that she kept the bead but didn’t return it, unable to let go of the memories it triggers of their first forays into the world of genuine heroism. 

From Kiri, Beau keeps a handful of birdseed, now scattered and coating the inside of one her purse pockets. She can’t bring herself to throw it away, a gift of appreciation for one of the best things they’ve ever done, a life they truly saved and changed for the better. 

From Calianna, Beau keeps just a shard of that cursed bowl, chipping and cracking under the weight of the coins in her purse. Calianna was such an inspiring, carefree soul, cruelly trapped in a strange conflict. The shard, for Beau, represents more than just an argument and more than just a memory of Calianna, it’s about moving on, making up and smiling again, like Calianna would’ve wanted. 

From Nila, Beau keeps a single good berry, dried up and shriveled in her pocket but still somehow spelling like the firbolg. As long as it’s there, Beau feels closer to nature and life, as if this one tiny, probably spoiled berry will bring her back from the brink one day. The berry is protection and healing, a gift from a fierce mother who would do anything to protect her family. 

From Keg, Beau keeps her morning after letter, tucked away in the back of her notebook. She likes to take it out and reread the scribbled out parts, holding it to her heart like a school-girl with a hopeless crush. 

From Caduceus, Beau keeps a dried up bag of tea leaves. It has his smell and brings her back to the quiet nights in between his arrival and Molly’s resurrection, days of grief and soft, healing words. Every time she smells it, she’s filled with a calm determination, knowing, now, that she can get through anything with her family’s help. 

From Twiggy, Beau keeps an actual twig. She suspects it’s one of the ones Twiggy had stuck in her hair and it has a bit of dried gum on the end of it, but Beau treasures it anyway because the girl seemed so earnest when she handed it over, a genuine gift that urges Beau to consider the world from a different, simpler perspective, one where twigs and chocolate are the most important things you could have. After friends, of course. 

From Spurt, Beau keeps nothing but a scale, torn off in his brush with death. Beau thinks she more than deserves to keep it, considering she stuck her neck out to pull him back at the last second. It’s sort of morbid, but the scale always inspires Beau to take risks when it seems like the right, or at least funniest, thing to do.

From Dairon, Beau keeps her words, echoing in her mind, scrawled across her notebook, and burning through her muscles. “Stay alive” becomes her creed, a kind of minimalistic but deeply meaningful caring that resonates with Beau. 

Beau sighs as she rifles through her bags and pockets, too caught up in memories to remember what she was supposed to be looking for. 

With her family growing bigger every day, she’s going to need a lot more bags to store all these keepsakes in. 

“Hey, Jester! Fjord!”

Jester pokes her head in from the adjoining room, Fjord following just behind and Molly lurking farther behind him. 

“How do you guys feel about a shopping trip?”

With ecstatic tieflings and a disgruntled half orc in tow, Beau leads the charge in gathering the rest of their family. The Mighty Nein managed to find each other and they’ll find a way to stick together. 

Even when slow shopping days threaten to tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I made Beau somehow save Spurt because I am committed to a Everyone Lives Au, ok?) 
> 
> And that's it! It was fun to participate in this event, even though I was _really_ behind!


End file.
